


Let's talk sugar

by asterismal (asterisms)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Auror Harry Potter, M/M, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, Or Is he?, Sugar Baby Harry Potter, Sugar Daddy Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle is Not Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 14:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterismal
Summary: In which Harry Potter may or may not be a sugar baby (jk he totally is)





	Let's talk sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wynnebat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [wynnebat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat) in the [TomarryFlashExchanges](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TomarryFlashExchanges) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Harry’s in denial about being Tom’s sugar baby until something/someone finally gets him to admit it.

The first time Harry hears about Tom Riddle, newly elected Minister for Magic, is when one of his fellow recruits scoffs at the article announcing his ascension. 

Apparently, Riddle and the man’s uncle were rivals back at Hogwarts, where Riddle consistently took the top spot in each of his classes and even trounced the man in a duel, once. As he listens, Harry thinks that this sound less like a pair of rivals and more like one jealous boy constantly trying and failing to reach the top of the pack, but he keeps the thought to himself. 

And then their instructor arrives, and all thoughts of Riddle are pushed aside in favor of learning how to incapacitate someone while disarmed.

For three years, his life at the Ministry continues this way. He never crosses paths with Riddle, but wherever he goes, there always seems to be someone with something to say about him.

And then he gets The Assignment. 

Surprising absolutely no one who pays attention, Riddle’s time as Minister has attracted almost as much hate as it has adoration, and a new fringe group has taken shape to put that hatred into action. By the time Harry is added to Riddle’s protection detail, there have been four direct attempts on his life and five generalized attacks that just so happened to coincide with his unplanned public appearances. 

As much as Harry would prefer chasing down actual criminals, not just particularly enthused political dissenters, he doesn’t fight the assignment. He may not agree with all of Riddle’s policies, but he is, in fact, capable of being a professional. And anyway, he doesn’t _ actually _ want the man to die.

Furthermore, he understands that placing him, the department’s “rising star,” onto this assignment is a largely political move, and the only way to escape the crushing grind of politics would be to leave the Aurors altogether, something he’s not yet willing to consider.

Meeting Minister Riddle is not at all what he expects.

For one thing, the Daily Prophet lied to him. Riddle is much more handsome in person. And also taller, Harry notes as the man stands from his ornate chair when Harry is ushered into his office. 

Riddle steps around his desk and approaches, and Harry has to remind himself to breathe as he tracks his gaze down the man’s athletic frame, remarkably in shape for a man who sits at a desk all day, and back up again. When his gaze returns to the man’s face, he’s watching Harry with something like a smirk, an amused light in his eyes.

Harry would apologize for blatantly ogling the man, but he also doesn’t want to admit what just happened out loud.

Merlin’s beard, so much for being a professional. 

“You must be Harry Potter,” Riddle says as he offers a hand to shake, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Nothing bad, I hope,” Harry jokes weakly as Riddle’s large hand wraps around his own, his grip firm as his warm, dry palm presses against Harry’s in a moment of contact that feels both as if it stretches far too long and is over _ far _ too soon.

“Only the best,” Riddle says, and he finally lets go of Harry’s hand.

His supervisor clears her throat, then, breaking the moment, and Harry looks away, cheeks heating and feeling caught out. When he chances another glance Riddle’s way, the man is still watching him, though there’s a new, intent gleam in his eyes that makes Harry wonder if he should have fought harder against this assignment after all.

Seeing as it’s literally his job to shadow Riddle everywhere he goes, he soon comes to know him better than he could have ever hoped. For example, he learns how to subtly comfort the man when the rare signs of discontent show, because he knows Riddle will not accept either coddling or pity. He learns how to navigate conversation when the man is feeling particularly ornery. He learns what it feels like to have one of Riddle’s true, secret smiles aimed his way.

And, oddly enough, he learns what it’s like to have the handsome, older man give him gifts.

The first time Riddle presses a tastefully wrapped gift into his hands, he asks the man who he’s supposed to deliver it to. 

Once Riddle finally stops laughing, he explains.

“It’s for you,” the man says as he wipes a stray tear from the corner of his eye, looking both exasperated and startlingly fond. He gestures to the box. “I saw it in the shop, and I thought of you.”

“Oh.” 

There’s a startled, fluttery feeling in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. 

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Riddle asks with a smile.

Harry proceeds to do so and is surprised to see that Riddle has gotten him a new wand holster. It looks and feels expensive, with buttery smooth leather for straps and a charmed dragonhide exterior that extends to cover the back of his hand as well. It’s the kind of thing he’s only ever eyed longingly before moving on to a different part of the store.

“It’s too much,” he says, but when he tries to give it back, Riddle won’t take it. 

“I believe the proper thing to say upon receiving a gift is ‘thank you’,” Riddle tells him with a grin to show he isn’t offended.

“Thank you,” Harry finally says, as sincerely as he can manage, clutching the holster to his chest and knowing he must look embarrassingly besotted but being helpless to hide it.

When he mentions the incident to one of the other aurors tasked with Riddle’s protection, she looks at him like he’s crazy, and Harry is struck with the realization that no one else is being given presents.

No one else is allowed so close.

It’s a heady thing to know.

Eventually, the assignment ends.

His _ association _ with Riddle… doesn’t.

For the most part, this is fine. Great, even. Then, the worst thing happens.

“Harry!” 

When he hears Tom call his name, he pauses mid-stride and turns to see the man hurrying towards him. Hermione, whose rant on the most recent treaty with the goblins was interrupted by the sound, casts him a look of surprise when she sees the Minister for Magic heading their way.

As he approaches, the man holds out a folder for Harry to take, which he does without hesitating.

“Could you deliver this to Robards for me?” he asks, one hand reaching up to tug at his disheveled hair. At Harry’s confused look, he explains, “The man has been dodging me all week, but he won’t be expecting _ you_.” 

“Of course,” Harry says with a grin.

“Thank you, darling.” If they were alone, Tom might press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re a lifesaver.” 

Looking far less stressed now that this is taken care of, Tom spares them one last grin before he sweeps away to address whatever other pressing matters are holding his attention.

Hermione looks between Harry and his retreating form.

“Um, Harry?” she asks, “What was that?”

Harry tears his gaze away from Tom to look back at her.

“What do you mean?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“The Minister just called you darling.”

“Oh, right.” He shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not that weird. He does it all the time.”

Before Hermione can analyze that any further, Harry gestures to the folder he’s been tasked with delivering.

“Anyway, I’ve got to go. Meet me for lunch?”

“Of course,” Hermione says, “But, Harry-”

“Later!” he calls over his shoulder, speed walking toward the lift that will take him away from this conversation. 

Hermione does, in fact, interrogate him later, but he doesn’t realize exactly what he’s in for until he walks through the door to Sirius’ home the next day to find the main standing just behind the door with his arms crossed, waiting for him.

“Oh, Merlin.” Harry sighs. “C’mon, then. Out with it.”

“Hermione tells me you’ve been getting close with the Minister,” Sirius says as he follows Harry down the hall. 

“Hermione needs to keep her gossip to herself,” Harry grumbles, only half meaning it.

“So, what is he? Your sugar daddy?” Sirius asks once he’s finally calmed down, one bottle of wine and a promise from Harry to keep his wand on him at all times later. 

“What? No!” Harry protests. He steals the new, half-empty bottle from Sirius’ hand. The man clearly doesn’t need any more. “I don’t even _ need _ a sugar daddy. In case you’ve forgotten, my parents left me a pretty sizable inheritance. If I want nice things, I can buy them _ myself_.”

“Okay, but do you?” Sirius asks.

Harry pouts, takes a drink for himself.

“...Shut up.”

The next two weeks are spent dodging Hermione’s attempts to drag him into the dating scene. She even tries to rope Ron into her efforts, which lasts until he tells both Harry and Hermione with absolute certainty that he doesn’t actually want to know what’s going on, thank you very much, so if they could please stop talking to him about how the Minister is behaving inappropriately with his friend, that’d be great. 

It’s a refreshing change from all the other meddlers in his life.

Unfortunately, Hermione’s meddling also has the unforeseen consequence of Harry, for the first time in a while now, feeling horribly uncomfortable during Tom’s latest attempt to ‘broaden his horizons’ when it comes to Wizarding restaurants. Apparently, it’s unthinkable that an associate of the Minister’s would be so unfamiliar with high society.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asks gently, ten minutes into dinner.

“Sorry,” Harry says as he tears his bread into pieces instead of eating it. “My friend has started getting on my case about the whole, um, dating thing, which I’m apparently supposed to be doing now. It’s been bothering me.”

“Oh?” Tom smirks. Harry really wishes he wouldn’t. “And how is that going?”

“What?”

“The ‘dating thing’,” Tom says, an amused glint in his dark eyes.

“Oh, um.” Harry feels his face flush. “It isn’t. Going, I mean. A few people have asked me out, but it just didn’t feel…” He trails off. 

What he wants to say is that it wouldn’t feel _ right _ going out with other people when he has Tom, but that’s weird, isn’t it?

After all, it’s not like he and _Tom_ are dating…

Are they?

“Well,” Tom says, drawing Harry back to the present, “I’m sure when the time is right, you’ll know.”

“Um, right.”

He stuffs a piece of bread in his mouth to get out of having to say anything else. 

If only it could be so easy.

“So you’re telling me,” Sirius says, looking as if he isn’t sure if he should find this funny or distressing, “that a powerful, rich older man is buying you nice things and taking you out to fancy restaurants, and he’s _ not _ your sugar daddy?” 

“That’s _ exactly _ what I’m saying,” Harry tells him, “And anyway, it’s not like we’re having sex.”

Except now he’s thinking about sex.

The first time he has sex with Tom, he thinks it can’t possibly get any better.

And then it does. Over and over and over again.

And, well, he supposes he might have to rethink this whole sugar daddy thing.

“Okay, so,” Harry starts, clutching the mixed drink Ron made for him to his chest, “being a sugar baby requires that I perform some, I don’t know, sexual favors in return for all of the nice stuff he gives me, right?”

“Generally,” Hermione tells him. 

She’s had a few drinks of her own, and her hair is like a dark, twisty cloud around her head. It’s a far cry from the neat styles she usually wears in the office, which is a shame, he thinks. 

Her hair makes a very nice cloud.

But he was making a point, wasn’t he?

“Sexual favors,” Harry says triumphantly, “We don’t do that.”

“So you two have never had sex?” Hermione asks, looking skeptical. 

Ron, who's in the kitchen but can still hear every word they say, groans. For a guy who once dated Lavender Brown and used to make jokes about Uranus, Harry thinks, he really is a bit of a prude.

“I mean...” Harry trails off.

“Harry!” Hermione sounds delightedly scandalized.

“What? I’m not allowed to have a healthy sex life, now?” Hermione cackles at him. “And anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that I’d have sex with him even if he _ didn’t _ buy me all these things, so it’s _ different_.”

Hermione just keeps laughing at him.

Ron makes him another drink.

The next time he finds himself in Tom’s bed, he can’t stop thinking about it.

“Hey, Tom?” 

He pokes at Tom’s shoulder until the other man rolls over to lie on top of him, squashing him into the mattress. 

“What?” he says, half-asleep.

“Am I your sugar baby?”

Tom lets out a long suffering sigh.

“Do you want to be?” he asks, and he only sounds a little bit annoyed at being woken for this.

“Um.” Harry blushes. Now that he stops to think about it, it actually sounds pretty nice, in an exciting sort of way. “Kinda?”

“Then, sure,” Tom says shortly, partially muffled as he presses his face into Harry’s hair, “You’re my sugar baby. Any other questions?”

“Nope.” Harry cards his fingers through Tom’s hair. He feels like laughing, but he settles for a wide grin. “Go back to sleep.”

“Gladly.”


End file.
